


Don't Forget To Smile

by CykaSpace



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romantic Fluff, Smile Era, University
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-23 08:45:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18546325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CykaSpace/pseuds/CykaSpace
Summary: Roger finds Brian's diary among some research papers when he can't sleep.Circa 1970 (Smile era)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> FBSRO

'I'm heading to bed now, Rog,' Brian announced, yawning and stretching as he arose from the sofa. Roger looked up from his magazine and nodded.

'Okay, I think I'll be following you in a bit,' Roger replied and cracked his neck. Brian smiled.

'Sleep well,' he said and walked into his room and shut the door behind him. Roger stood up and began to walk into the kitchen to pour himself a coffee. He'd made sure that it was decaf so he wouldn't wander around his flat trying to find something to read or do until the buzz wore off, much to Brian's utter annoyance. After he'd poured his coffee, Roger walked to his room and into his bed. He'd watch some TV and sip his coffee until he fell asleep. 

 

Roger jolted awake and looked around his room to the sound of his TV, which was still on, playing some weird horror film that he'd never seen and probably never  _would_ see but his coffee cup was empty. Roger leant over to his bedside table and picked up his watch to check the time.

'Three-thirty?' he muttered in surprise. Surprise suddenly turned to realisation and Roger pinched his temples; he'd picked up the caffeinated coffee instead of decaf in his pre-sleep haze. Just when Roger thought he was going to have a good night sleep, he goes and does something as stupid as this. Sighing and realising that he wasn't going to be able to sleep for around another hour or two, Roger turned off his TV and climbed out of bed into the living room. The entire flat was freezing - both men had decided to cut down on their electricity bill by not putting the heating on at night (Roger's television being on for around four hours straight really didn't help, however) - so Roger dragged in a blanket Brian had given him for Christmas (Roger had called it ugly when he had received it, but really though that it was something sweet); said blanket draped over his shoulders and held by its red tassels by Roger's pale hands. He really wasn't helping himself by being in boxer shorts and a tank-top although they were a whole lot comfier than whatever Hellish pyjamas his parents had given him a year back. Shivering, Roger shuffled over to the sofa and threw himself down upon it, the sofa itself protesting with a squeal. Papers and notebooks scattered across the coffee table caught Roger's attention and he sat up to examine them.  _No doubt the're just Brian's research papers,_ Roger thought. Picking up a hastily scribbled-on note that spoke of some nonsense he couldn't comprehend, Roger raked a hand through his hair and sighed in frustration. Supposing he even  _could_ understand the notes, he doubted that he'd be interested in them; Brian was into all that sciencey stuff, not Roger. Flicking through some other notes and notebooks, Roger came across some drawings.  _Since when was Brian into art?_ he thought as he picked up a handful of the papers. Most of the sketches were of naked models, both male and female, but there were a few sketches of animals as well. 

 

Roger was beginning to tire after an hour or so, just as he'd expected to, and decided that he'd do a once-over on the notes and sketches strewn about the coffee table and, now, Roger himself. As he did, Roger's eyes landed on a leather-bound notebook that he, somehow, hadn't come across yet. Leaning forwards in his blanket cocoon, Roger grasped the notebook and opened it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FBSRO

Roger had been acting weirdly for that past week and Brian was beginning to think that he'd done something wrong. Usually, if he  _had,_ in fact, done something to upset the drummer, he'd be criticised for it for days on end without mercy and the problem would usually solve itself. This time, however, the exact opposite was happening and Roger would avoid the taller man whenever he could. To begin with, Brian simply brushed off the odd behaviour and out it down to one of his teachers picking on him again (as Roger claimed they usually did) but, after prolonged spates of silence from the shorter man, Brian began to grow concerned. It was this, coupled with pressure from classwork and his now missing diary, that caused Brian to almost break down one Saturday evening when Roger was cooped up in his room (again). Without his diary, Brian couldn't get out how he felt; his diary was like a person that listened to him when no one else would and, without it, Brian was slowly loosing control over his emotions. Finally giving in, Brian walked over to Roger's bedroom door and knocked on it. There came no reply but Brian knew from experience that that didn't always mean that you were allowed to enter. The taller man tried knocking again and calling the blond's name. This time the door opened.

'Roger, can I talk to you?' Brian asked. Roger's eyes widened but he nodded, nonetheless. Thanking him, Brian walked into his room and sat on the side of the unmade bed.

'I lost my diary and I can't find it,' Brian began to explain once Roger had closed the door. 'It's something that's really important to me and, because I can't find it, I'm kind of...losing it.' Roger cleared his throat and Brian looked up expectantly.

'What do you want me to do about it?' Roger croaked out, sitting next to Brian.

'Could I just tell you how I'm feeling? You don't even have to listen, you can do whatever you want, I just need to get it out there.' Roger cocked an eyebrow but, other than that, his face remained expressionless.

'Why can't you just talk to yourself?' 

'It doesn't exactly work like that; there has to be someone there that I can talk to. Or, in this case, at,' Brian replied, beginning to regret his decision to come to Roger for help. After all, they'd barely spoken to each other for days and the only words said between them were yes and no (even they were used sparingly). After some silence that seemed to go on forever, Roger sighed and nodded.

'Alright, then.' Brian's face lit up and he grinned at Roger, thanking him.

'The teachers are too overbearing and we're not given enough time to complete projects. I only have a week to complete...' Roger began to tune out Brian's voice and started instead to page through one of the magazines that layered the floor. He knew where Brian's diary was - in his bedside draw - but he didn't know how to explain to Brian how he came to having it in his possession. Really, in a perfect world, Roger would give the diary to Brian without any fuss and Brian would be on his merry way. This, however, was not a perfect world and the things that Roger had read in Brian's diary were far from perfect. Brian's writing ranged from stray lyrics and his various problems to love poems and confessions. In his own mind, Roger had dubbed the small diary as Brian' private confessional that held his inner thoughts and feelings. And, among those thoughts and feelings, was one confession that Roger had seen scribbled about the book that had changed the way the blond thought about his closest friend. Confessions of Brian's secret love for the drummer littered the corners of multiple pages and Roger was almost certain that nearly all of the love poems and confessions of "uncomfortable yet highly-arousing" dreams were about him. Poor Brian was so innocent that he didn't even seem to know what to call the dreams he had or even how to describe them (Brian had settled for describing how he felt after a wet-dream as "sticky and ashamed", the poor soul). Roger would never admit it, but he was flattered and maybe a little aroused at the sight of him being described as the "love of my life" in Brian's scribbled handwriting. 

'What do you think?' Brian asked, turning to Roger. Roger jumped slightly, seemingly having his thoughts disturbed.

'Huh?' Roger blurted out.

'What do you think?' Brian repeated.

'You said that I could tune out...' Roger mumbled, fiddling with his hands. Brian nodded understandingly.

'That's alright, probably for the best.' Brian thought for a moment before deciding to finally broach the subject of Roger's silence.

'What's been bothering you lately? You'e been so quiet.' Roger shook his head.

'You'd be embarrassed,' Roger said, looking away to his left.

'Oh yeah? Try me,' Brian replied. Roger looked up at the taller man, his expression unreadable but his eyes speaking books.

'I may have your diary,' he whispered. Brian's eyes widened and his jaw clenched. How  _dare_ Roger have his diary?!  _Why_ did Roger even have his diary?  _When_ did Roger even acquire his diary and  _for how long_ had Roger had his diary for? Brian leapt to his feet and loomed over Roger.

'Did you read any of it?' he growled. Roger gulped. 'Well? Did you?!' Roger averted his gaze and nodded, fear coursing through his body. He'd never seen Brian this angry before and so he wasn't entirely sure what he was capable of. Brian's face turned bright red and he stormed out of Roger's room and into his own, slamming the door behind him.

 

Brian threw himself onto his bed, his hair serving as a softener for the blow. Why did Roger have to read it? More importantly, how much had Roger actually read of it? Did he get to the pages about those weird dreams?  _Oh, God..._ Brian's brain was overloading with thoughts and panicking about how Roger would feel about this. That's why Roger had been ignoring him; if he'd gotten to the poems, the dreams and especially the writing in the corner of the page confirming his secret love for the angry blond man in the room adjacent to his, then God knows what he'd think about Brian now, his queer little roommate. A knock sounded at Brian's door but he didn't reply, knowing fully well that Roger would come in whether or not he had permission to. The door creaked open and Roger padded inside.

'I, uh, I brought your diary for you,' he whispered to Brian's limp body on the bed. The taller man looked up, his hair draped over his face.

'Doesn't matter,' he muttered, slamming his head back down onto the pillow. 'You've probably read all of it, knowing you, so I don't care what you do with it.' Roger sighed, sat next to Brian and combed his hand through his curls. Brain started and looked at Roger.

'What're you doing?' he asked, yet mad no move to get away. Roger removed his hand hastily from Brian's hair and tucked it back to his side.

'Sorry,' he apologised. Brian sighed and pressed his face further into the pillows. He'd really enjoyed Roger stroking his hair.

'How much did you read?' came the muffled question. Roger looked down at his hands.

'The whole thing..' he admitted. A low groan came from Brian and Roger felt his heart thump in his throat like his heart and had somehow managed to throw itself up.

'So you know everything, then?'

'Yeah, I suppose so,' Roger replied. He hated seeing Brian like this; defeated and, to some extent, depressed. As soon as Brian sat up, Roger engulfed him in a hug, knocking the taller of the two onto his back and straddling him in the process. Brian looked up through glassy eyes and attempted a smile.

'Guess what?' Roger whispered against Brian's ear, sending shivers down his spine.

'Wh-what?'

'I love you, too.' Brian grinned and choked back gleeful tears.


End file.
